


Luminocity

by Cas_tellations



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Draco Malfoy, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23704864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cas_tellations/pseuds/Cas_tellations
Summary: The stinging hex ripples out from his shoulder, spider webbing across his pale flesh, weaving itself into a mass of raised, angry red strings of pain. It’s a window to Draco’s soul; battered and torn apart, inflicted against him from a world so cruel that it’s power rivals that of the stars that hang low in the sky on the nights where sleep evades Draco so gracelessly.Or: Draco Malfoy gets hit with a stinging hex. Blaise holds him close.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95





	Luminocity

**Author's Note:**

> Is this ship a thing? It should be a thing. It's a thing now.

The stinging hex ripples out from his shoulder, spider webbing across his pale flesh, weaving itself into a mass of raised, angry red strings of pain. It’s a window to Draco’s soul; battered and torn apart, inflicted against him from a world so cruel that it’s power rivals that of the stars that hang low in the sky on the nights where sleep evades Draco so gracelessly. 

Once upon a time, it could have been an easy fix. Once upon a time, Draco was strong and sure of his magic, not backing down from casting his own healing charms and throwing some hexes of his own out into the world. Once, he faced everything with his eyes drawn up and shoulders thrown back with that stuffy, stupid, arrogant smirk on his face. He’d grown to hate that misplaced confidence during the war, trapped inside a manor too small to accommodate for the Dark Lord’s immovable presence. Photographs of the Malfoy dynasty remained adorned upon the ornate walls, and Draco’s eyes had immediately hated the past version of him, looking out at the world as though something good was about to happen to him. 

Once upon a time, Draco had a mind to which was unscarred and a wand that obeyed his every call. Now though… now, Draco finds himself in fragments, simply pieces of a whole that are merely a dull echo of what he once was, and who he will never be again. 

His back  _ hurts,  _ aches in a way that he should be used to by now, judging by the sheer amount of scars that litter his body. 

He never got used to the pain, though. 

Maybe it’s because he deserves it, Draco reflects, his hands shaking as he presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, pressing hard enough to make his head hurt and his mind see stars. Maybe the Gryffindors and their stupid bloody hexes and all the taunts and threats in the hallway are just another way in which the universe is forcing him to do his penance. He’s not a good person - he has no right to be, the mark of death that he bears on his forearm is evidence to that, and the way that it refuses to be covered or cut off or fade further leads him down the hole of  _ I deserve this, I deserve this, I deserve this.  _ He deserves to wear the mark that warms others to stay away, and he deserves the shitty loan of a wand, and he deserves the pulsing stings that enrapture his body. 

Draco’s breaths come in pants against his wrists. 

“Draco?” 

It’s Blaise’s voice. Draco would recognize it anywhere - be it in the middle of the frontlines of a battle that’s far too vicious or the shared eighth-year dormitory for the Slytherins and Gryffindors. 

“Can you - stinging hex,” Draco gets out, and Blaise is crouching before him in a  _ picosecond,  _ one hand closing around Draco’s wrist and the other splayed across his knee. 

“Merlin,” Blaise curses softly under his breath, just loud enough for Draco to hear. He’s muttering the counterspell a moment later though, and Draco sags forward on the bed, forehead resting against Blaise’s shoulder. 

Relief flows through his veins. He reaches out for Blaise’s robes, curls his still-shaking fingers into the fabric. 

“Who was it?” Blaise says, and though his voice is trained itself to be soft, Draco knows him too well. He can hear the underlying anger, the fury that has built up inside of him since the moment he opened the dormitory door and saw Draco’s defeated form. “The bloody Gryffindors again?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Draco gets out between deep breaths because it bloody well  _ doesn’t.  _ He’s a Death Eater, there’s no protection for him here. There’s no way out - no saving grace in the form of the head of house or teacher or even  _ Headmaster.  _

“Matters to me.” Blaise bites out, “I’ll find them, make them pay-”

Draco shakes his head, but Blaise continues roughly, “could string them up by their fingernails and watch them beg. I could slowly put stinging hexes on them until they’re bleeding. I could throw them to the giant squid or sick my wolfhounds on them.” He lists items off easily, as though he’s gone through this list in his head many times before. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco repeats, drawing back from Blaise, letting his robes fall and feeling Blaise’s fingers slipping away from his wrist. 

“Yes, it  _ does. _ ” Blaise says, as though it’s a fact instead of an opinion, “It matters to me. It matters because - because you matter to me.” 

Draco huffs at that, and leans away, “well maybe I shouldn’t.” 

“Oh, bloody hell. Are you back on that train of thought again?” 

Draco rolls his eyes, feigning a casual comfort even as a lump bubbles up in his throat. It’s impossible for him to hide himself before Blaise’s attentive eyes. Under Blaise’s gaze, Draco is forever open and raw, stripped bare so that Blaise can see into his heart and mind and soul and feel what Draco feels, hear the awful monologues in Draco’s mind. 

“Oh, come off it.” Blaise stands, though he stays steadfastly as close as possible, letting Draco’s knees bracket him. “You don’t get to tell me who to care about and who not to care about.” He reaches forward, warm hand dragging against Draco’s left ring finger, where a silver band lies under an illusion charm. “Alright?” 

Draco glares at him, remembers the mark of the Dark Lord, “Yeah, sure, alright.” He says with a sick, vicious grin, “you should care about a fucking Death Eater.” 

Blaise’s eyes narrow, and Draco watches as his chest rises and falls evenly in large gulps of air. 

“Everybody always says,” Draco goes on, “that I shouldn’t be here. That I should have died in the place of their lost family members. That I shouldn’t have been born at all - or that the Dark Lord should have killed me himself so that I could feel the pain that was being inflicted on the world.” He stops to gasp before launching back into it, “every day, Blaise. Every single day, all day long I am reminded of who I am and who I will always be. And some days I get hit with a fucking stinging hex and some days I get hit with the Cruciatus curse or a silencing jinx or- or- twelve-year-olds trying to kill me with Avada Ke-” Draco chokes, and Blaise catches the back of his head in his hand, lacing his fingers through Draco’s blond hair, pulling him into his warmth. 

Inside his chest, something is crumbling. The careful exterior that he shoves upon himself every morning so that he may walk through the hallways of Hogwarts cracks and falls to pieces around his shoulders, sinking like shards of glass into his flesh. It  _ hurts.  _ It’s not a beautiful way to fall apart. There is nothing to the aesthetic beyond raw cold hatred and pain that he  _ deserves  _ after all he’s done. It’s not akin to the image of a pretty girl with tears streaming down her face and a bottle of some sort of strong liquor in her grip. It’s not like standing before the grave of someone close enough to be family. It’s not like the fall that comes after summer, cold air sweeping through the world and taking over tones of green with orange and red. 

No- it’s like drowning. 

It’s like being a million miles underwater with no air left in his aching lungs. 

It’s like the stars are falling. 

Like he made them fall. 

“You don’t- you don’t deserve this,” Draco gets out, his voice muffled by Blaise’s robes, “you should go.” 

Blaise’s stomach moves where Draco is pressed against it in a huff of laughter, “you’re holding on too tight. And besides,” he runs his hands through Draco’s hair and down to his shoulders, “that’s the last thing I want to do right now.”

Draco breaths in Blaise’s scent, letting the familiarity slow his beating heart and calm his overactive, haunting mind. He lets the pine and the smoke overwhelm him, replacing the panic, breaking down those walls that cage him in with every chance that they are able to obtain. 

“See?” Blaise says softly, and Draco can hear the smile caught on the edge of his words, softening them, “you’re alright.” 

“I shouldn’t be.” 

Blaise’s hands feel so good on him, deftly scratching through his hair and massaging the too-tight muscles in his shoulder from all the weight that he’s forced to carry around with him day in and day out, through the classes and the great hall and the endless expanse of the sky during the astronomy lessons where he stays as far away from the edge of the tower as possible because of those evil, darting eyes that burn into him. 

Blaise pulls back then, and crawls up onto Draco’s four-poster bed, setting back against the pillows, and toeing off his shoes. 

Like a magnet, Draco is drawn to him. 

He settles beside Blaise, like Blaise is some sort of gravitational constant in the world, like no matter, what, Draco can always slip in beside him easier than breathing. Blaise lays on his back, his dark skin strikingly beautiful contrasting against the pristinely white sheets. Draco settles on his side, elbow bent to cushion his head. 

He reaches out with his other hand, and presses it to Blaise’s chest, feels the steady rise and fall. 

“Can I take the glamour charm off?” Blaise says, and his voice is small like he’s worried about what Draco might say. 

Draco pauses and counts the times that Blaise’s chest rises and falls, feels the quickened rate of his beating heart.  _ One, two, three.  _ “Yeah.” 

It’s not something that they do often. Only during times like these, really, when the dormitory is empty due to a late-evening quidditch match and feast in the great hall. It’s only during the times when they know that they’re alone. 

The afternoon sun streams through the open window, casting shades of gold over their bodies. 

Blaise murmurs the counter glamour, and that beautiful silver band appears on Draco’s finger, the familiar weight of it settling back against his skin. Blaise’s own hand settles on top of Draco’s, and he tangles their fingers together. 

Draco stares at their intertwined hands with red-rimmed eyes and the after-effects of a stinging hex left on for too long still lingering. 

“Draco…” Blaise whispers, and shifts, props himself up on his elbow, catching Draco’s hand in his and bringing it up to his lips, breath washing over his hand. He presses a feather-light kiss to the silver band, touch as careful as a dove landing on a windowsill at Malfoy Manor. 

“What?” 

Blaise blinks down at him, “I love you.” 

He says it plainly like he’s never questioned that fact. Every time he says it, it shocks Draco. It shocks him to his core, shakes his entire being, makes him frown and recoil. 

“You shouldn’t,” Draco says, again, but he can’t seem to force himself to let Blaise go. He wants to push him away, wants to tell him that he shouldn’t trust a death eater such as himself because he’s sure to betray him, he’s sure to do something stupid and get Blaise killed or tortured or- or- 

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you actually meant that,” Blaise says, and he moves closer, falling back down onto the pillows and wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulders, pulling him near enough for Draco’s head to end up pillowed on Blaise’s chest, their hands resting together on Blaise’s ribcage. 

He listens to the sound of Blaise’s beating heart. 

“I’ll just end up hurting you-” Draco says, and his eyes sting with unshed tears as he lists off all of the scenarios that he’s been thinking of every waking hour since the war, “like everybody else. The Dark Lord will come back and he’ll take you from me because you’re the only thing that matters. Or - or someone will curse you like they cursed my mother. Or I’ll get thrown in Azkaban and you’ll be - you’ll be alone-” 

Blaise cuts him off then, his hand moving back through Draco’s hair, “I’m not as weak as you make me out to be.” 

“That’s what my mother thought. And Vincent.” 

“I know,” Blaise says softly, and though it’s warm in the afternoon’s offering of golden sunlight, Draco still feels cold, “but the war’s over now Draco.” 

“I…” Draco’s voice fails him. He turns his head into Blaise, and shivers, “I still feel  _ him.”  _

“He’s gone,” Blaise’s voice is calm, and his hand stays steady as it strokes through Draco’s hair, “you’re safe now.”

Draco shakes his head against him, and grips Blaise’s hand so tightly that it  _ must  _ hurt, “I should… I should be dead right now.” 

He feels Blaise’s sharp intake of breath and he raises his head, looking up at Blaise through eyes that well with tears and despair. He bites at his bottom lip and his chin trembles, “I hate what I’ve done.”

“It’s okay now,” Blaise says gently, and grips Draco’s chin in his hand, pulls him down to press their lips together chastely. “I love you,” Blaise says again, with a freeness that Draco instantly envies. The worlds split the cool atmosphere, and breath warmth into the room on the sun’s rays, “heart and soul.”

Draco blinks, and rolls away from Blaise, sitting up in the pocket of sunlight that lands on the sheets. 

“Hey- no, come back.” Blaise whines, hand darting out to land on Draco’s thigh. 

Draco allows his words to fall upon deaf ears and shrugs off his robe, unfastening the cufflink of his left arm so as to roll up his sleeve. He pales at the sight of the dark marks, and looks away desperately, eyes searching for Blaise’s. “Even with this?” He demands, shoving it towards Blaise. 

He’s never shown it off like this before. Never since that night on the tower where he was supposed to send the late headmaster to his death. 

He can remember far, far too vividly the feeling of the Dark Lord’s cold hands on his skin as he pushed the mark into Draco’s skin with his own blood. He can remember the searing, icy cold and burning hot pain of feeling part of the Dark Lord’s body enter his own, staining him from head to toe, encompassing everything from his flesh to his soul. 

“Even with this?” Draco demands, his voice on the edge of a desperate yell as he looks down at Blaise. 

The room has no right to be this cold with this much sunlight dancing through it. 

Draco’s heart breaks a little bit more with every beat that passes where Blaise’s voice stays silent. 

“I hate it too, you know.” Draco says, voice angry, “I hate that I had to take the mark to bring honour back to my family. I hate that I have the Dark Lord’s blood under my skin.” He shakes visibly when he looks at it, “I hate that he’s always going to own part of me.” 

His shoulders hunch and he sinks into himself with a violent sob, the sound ripped from him like a crack of thunder echoing around a cavern. 

“Yeah,” Blaise says, and he sounds broken; sounds hurt, sounds like someone who’s just had the Cruciatus curse placed upon them, “yeah, Draco. Even with the mark.”

Draco sits in a pool of his robes and tears stain his cheeks as he wraps his hand around the dark mark, tries to hide it, tries to escape it. It’s so  _ cold,  _ Draco’s body shakes and trembles. It comes in waves, crashing against his body, ripping him away from the shore, water grabbing at his face, pulling him down. 

It’s not beautiful, the way in which the Malfoy heir falls apart. 

When Blaise’s hand wraps around Draco’s and pulls him in close, it feels like that first sight of land after a long voyage out at sea - it feels like being saved. It feels like hope when Blaise presses his lips to the mark, and it feels scarily close to redemption when he traces his fingers along Draco’s arm, wrapping them around the back of Draco’s neck and tugging him down into the sheets. 

“Remember when you asked me to marry you?” Blaise murmurs, his voice soft as it splits through the room, “you were so sure of it, and let me tell you - Merlin, that was the best moment of my life thus far. You- you jumped out of bed at the Manor and got down on one knee. You must have been planning it for a while because you even had a ring.” 

Blaise chuckles lightly, hand running up and down Draco’s heaving spine, “you were confident, you said,  _ ‘Marry me, Blaise Zabini,’  _ and all I could think about was how gorgeous you looked in the moonlight. It wasn’t even a question. It was a statement, a fact of life, the way that you presented it. Remember that night?” 

Against Blaise’s body, Draco nods, “you said yes before I finished saying your last name.” 

“Yes,” Blaise’s chest moves with a huff of laughter, “that’s right. And then later… Oh, it must have been a week or two later I suppose, because we were back here after Christmas holidays, and you cornered me in an empty classroom and asked if I was sure, and said that we were quite young so if I was to change my mind all I would need to do is tell you. You remember what I said back?” 

“Tell me again,” Draco says wetly, and clings to Blaise’s form. 

“Merlin, I can’t remember my exact words.” Blaise says, and the warm grows warmer as he strokes his hand through Draco’s hair, “but it was something along the lines of  _ ‘yes, absolutely. I want to marry you, Draco Malfoy,’  _ and then I kissed you, or something.” 

“Was more than that.” Draco points out, “was a whole speech.”

“Ah, suppose it was now, wasn’t it?”

“Mh.”

“Well,” Blaise says, through the birdsong that comes through the window with the sunlight, “You wouldn’t tell me exactly what was happening around sixth year. I tried asking Pansy and Vincent and Greg, too, but you hadn’t budged. Nobody knew what you were doing, but I could tell that it was killing you.” 

Blaise takes a deep breath like he’s trying to steele himself, “so I told you that. I told you how much it hurt me seeing you fade away before my eyes. And I told you that -- that no matter what, you can always count on me to be there for you, no matter what the issue might be. I told you that I was so bloody in love with you that it was all-consuming and that by agreeing to- to become your  _ husband  _ one day, I was agreeing to be with you forever. Till the end of time and beyond that, if you’ll allow me.” 

“Do you… do you still want that with me?” Draco says, and there’s a note of blown-out pleading to his tone that he can’t keep away. 

“‘Course.” Blaise says, and smiles, “I’d be stupid not to. You’re brilliant, Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh, shut up,” Draco says, but his eyes are void of tears now, and his muscles aren’t nearly as tight as they were before. The stinging spider web along his back has faded even more, so it doesn’t hurt when he rolls away from Blasie so that he’s on his back. A small smile plays across his lips. 

“Heart and soul, sweetheart,” Blaise says, and Draco can hear the grin in his voice. 

It’s a voice like sunlight; like the birdsong that comes through the window. 

It’s a voice full of care and the scent of pine and smoke. 

“You’ve always been beautiful to me.” 

Draco feels Blaise’s knuckles bump against his shoulders, and then a kiss on his jaw. Draco sighs, and closes his eyes, hands blindly reaching out for Blaise, one curling around his jaw and the other gripping his shoulder. Blaise smiles against Draco’s skin and presses another kiss to his jaw, a fraction of an inch closer to his lips this time. He’s propped up on his elbow over Draco, free hand pressed to Draco’s heart. 

When Blaise’s lips touch against Draco’s, the entire world seems to melt away beyond them. 

They don’t do this often; their touches are few and far between, soft and fleeting within the castle walls. Draco spends as much time alone as he can, terrified of what would happen to Blaise if anybody found out how close they are. Terrified of how his world would shatter even further if Blaise was to be torn from him. He doesn’t deserve Blaise, he knows that. But still… The thought of being without him makes Draco’s heart speed up uncomfortably and his breath comes in quick gasps. 

To be one who wears the mark of those who eat death; stealing the life and light from hundreds of undeserving innocents; Draco Malfoy is one of the last people to deserve this. This -- this kindness, this comfort. This love, overwhelming and all-encompassing. 

_ I don’t deserve this  _

“I don’t-”

“Shh,” Blaise whispers against his mouth, “let me take care of you for now, okay?” 

He covers Draco’s mouth with his own again, and in the end, there’s not much Draco can protest against when Blaise breathes love into him, presses all that care and hope against Draco’s skin and lets it dissolve. Blaise kisses him slow and easy in a way that they hadn’t done since the summer, and Draco lets him, lets the unbroken feeling of being loved wash over him. 

There is a roar from the window, and Blaise pulls back, sitting up thoughtfully, “the quidditch match must’ve started.” 

“Yeah,” Draco says, “Slytherin versus Gryffindor.” 

“Bound to be a good match,” Blaise says, “have you seen the Slytherin seeker?”

Draco rolls his eyes and closes his fingers around Blaise’s wrist, “yeah, a big hunk of a bloke.” 

“Sure,” Blaise says thoughtfully, turning his gaze to Draco, “nothing compared to you, though.” 

“Where d’you think flattery’s going to get you?” Draco drawls, but he knows it falls short. He can feel his cheeks colouring with pink. 

“Oh, y’know,” Blaise smirks, “everywhere.” 

He kisses him like he did when they first started falling into each other’s orbit in fifth year. Slow, and gentle, like he’s trying to pour every inch of his care and compassion into Draco’s shell of a form. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of Draco; the curve of his mouth when he smiles, the sharp canine teeth, the softness of the inside of his cheek and the press of tongue against tongue. 

Draco should be used to this. He was, once. Once, he could take this kind of care with ease, and pour it all back into Blaise, a give-and-take that left them gasping into each other and grinning bright and happy despite everything that surrounds them. 

Now though, Draco’s hands shake where he grabs hold of Blaise. His heart itself trembles, and his muscles grow tight until he’s a stiff board against the mattress and Blaise is pulling away, grabbing hold of one of Draco's hand and humming softly as he presses kiss after kiss to his hand, to the ring and his palm and his wrist - to the dark mark. 

“Something I did?” Blaise asks carefully, giving Draco space but refusing to let go of him completely. 

“No - I’m fine,” Draco says, and hates the way that his body is rejecting him. He has nothing to worry about, this is  _ Blaise.  _

“Hm,” Blaise hums noncommittally, “you know,” he says lowly, spelling it out against Draco’s skin in the way that his breath washes up against him, “it’s okay for you not to be okay. It’s okay for this to be too much.”

Draco frowns, frustration rippling off of him, “we’ve done this before. I’m fine.”

“We haven’t done this in a while, sweetheart,” the pet name slips out and Blaise puts Dracos’s hand on his thigh, covers it with his own, “not since… well, you know.” 

“I just-” Draco sits up, runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t know.” 

“That’s alright,” Blaise soothes, “it’s been a long day.”

“It’s never not going to be a bloody long day.” Draco bites out and shuffles back up against the headboard, knees drawn up to his chest and hand drawn away from Blaise. “Why am I so-”

“Gorgeous?” Blaise cuts in, “I say you have veela blood. That has to be it.” 

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Draco huffs. 

“It’s true, though.”

Draco rolls his eyes, “you really are a daft idiot, aren’t you?” It might sound meaner, he reflects, if affection wasn’t dripping off of every single word spoken. 

Blaise rolls his eyes, “takes one to know one, I’d presume.” 

He sinks back down beside Draco, presses their shoulders together like they’re little kids looking at the stars and not nearly nineteen and still fighting though the war has already come and gone. Draco sighs, deep and heavy, and listens to the sound of the quidditch match pouring through the window. It’s still cut through with birdsong, and it soothes Draco with its familiarity. 

The stillness is broken eventually with Blaise skimming his fingertips along Draco’s jawline, “tell me how to help you.” 

Draco blinks at him, “I don’t think that’s something that’s possible.” 

Blaise shakes his head, “just because you’re a Malfoy doesn’t mean you need to be so damn morbid all the time.” 

“I don’t know.” Draco frowns, “just… be here.” 

“With you?” 

“If you’ll have me.” 

“You must realize by now,” Blaise says, and ducks in close, lets his words wash over the shell of Draco’s ear, “that you’re all I want in this world.” 

Draco hums noncommittally, but this time he’s the one to lean into Blaise’s space, to press a feverish kiss to Blaise’s lips. 

“Okay,” Draco says, and laces his hand through with Blaise’s pulls him closer until Blaise is on top of him, thighs bracketing hips. 

Blaise looks down upon Draco with so much wonder dancing through his eyes that Draco can barely catch his breath. He doesn’t kiss Draco for a long while; just holds still, with the sun’s rays pouring over his shoulders and acting as a makeshift halo around him, surrounding him and bathing him in the same light to which Draco has always seen him in. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he clasps both Draco’s hands in his, intertwining their fingers easily yet again, pressing them into the pillow on either side of Draco’s head. 

Blaise kisses him all gentle, keeping it chaste and sweet and- 

-And Draco Malfoy’s concept of home has been warped for a while, for how can he call the manor home when it housed all of his worst nightmares. But he’s certain, at this moment, that he has found the true feeling of being home. 

It’s the feeling of having Blaise surrounding him. 

Draco presses up against Blaise, hums low in his throat as he traces Blaise’s bottom lip with his tongue. Blaise makes a soft noise and sinks against Draco, kissing him for all he’s worth. 

“You’re so good,” Blaise murmurs, barely pulling back far enough to get his words out, “so good, Draco.” 

Blaise tries to keep it chaste and gentle, but it dissolves the moment that Draco gets his teeth in his bottom lip, drags it back and licks across Blaise’s lips once it snaps back. At that, Blaise gasps, lets Draco swallow it up, and presses him against the mattress, one hand dropping Draco’s so that he can run it through his hair, pushing the blond back, watching it splay across the sheets. 

“You okay?” Blaise asks gently, pulling back to stare at Draco with blown out eyes and swollen, red lips.

Draco’s stiff again, but he gets a hand on the back of Blaise’s neck, “don’t stop,”

“That’s not an answer,” Blaise says, cupping Draco’s jaw in his hand, “we can stop if you need to.” 

“Don’t want to,” Draco says, and wets his lips, “I’m okay.” 

“We’re going slow.” 

Draco nods and Blaise presses another one of those gentle kisses to Draco’s, tracing his hand down his neck, thumbing at Draco’s collar, knuckles pressed up against Draco’s skin and fingers tightening on the buttons.

“Can I-” 

“ _ Yeah. Please.”  _

Blaise sits up to unbutton Draco’s shirt, and Draco stares at him with wide eyes. He’s handsome; all broad-shouldered and dark-skinned. His uniform is tight against him, showing off all of his curves and the sharp cuts of muscle. Draco can’t help but touch, hands clinging to his hips and working their way up into they’re spread across his chest, pressing against him. 

When Blaise finishes with the last button Draco sits up wordlessly, helping work it over his shoulders and down his arms, discarding the shirt to the side and- and Draco doesn’t want to lay back down. His chest is all pale fresh with a grotesque knot of scars spreading out from his heart. 

“Beautiful.” Blaise’s lips brush against Draco’s and he gets a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. 

Draco is about to bite out something self-deprecating, about to tell Blaise off for humouring him, but Blaise’s mouth in instantly on his and God -  _ God,  _ it’s  _ hot,  _ when Blaise sighs into Draco’s mouth and pulls back only to dive right back in, sharing heavy breaths. 

Blaise kisses him just like that for so long that Draco loses track of all concept of time; the rest of the world fading away to a dull fuzz as his senses are surrounded, completely and utterly encompassed by Blaise’s scent and his touch and his weight on top of Draco; all steadfast and heavy. He cradles Draco like he’s something special, pours all that love into him, coaxes soft moans from Draco’s mouth. 

“You’re gorgeous, Draco,” Blaise says against his neck, “so perfect for me.” 

His fingers trace along with the spread of scars on Draco’s chest, feeling along the raised flesh, skimming against his nipples in a way that has Draco arching up against him, moan swallowed up by Blaise’s mouth. 

“That’s right,” Blaise whispers, “let me take care of you, sweetheart. Just like that - so beautiful.” 

Draco flushes at the praise, his cheeks tinging with even more red. He gasps when Blaise finally moves, sliding a hand down to spread Draco’s legs open, slipping between then. 

“This alright?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Draco gasps, his pants of breath filling the otherwise quiet room, “yes,  _ God -  _ anything.” 

Blaise’s biceps flex, his shirt stretching dangerously over them as he holds himself above Draco, ducking down to press a kiss to the space above Draco’s heart and then shamelessly gets his lips around one of Draco’s nipples, tongue flicking at the piercing there and then teeth biting, mouth sucking  _ hard.  _

Draco cries out before he can help himself, head thrown to the side and eyes squeezed shut, hair messy on the pillow, lower lip captured in his mouth hard enough to taste a metallic tinge of blood. His neck is barred, and he fists his hands in the sheets, gripping them with all his might. 

“That’s it,” Blaise praises fall in a steady stream, “so pretty for me, Draco - so handsome, all spread out. I don’t know who gave you the right to be this gorgeous, but somehow you are - more beautiful than the full moon on a clear night, and all for me.” 

He works his way down Draco’s chest, pausing at his naval, hands hovering over the waistband of Draco’s slacks, “is it alright if I touch you?”

Draco nods desperately, voice hitching on the “ _ yes, please. _ ”

Blaise settles between his legs, works his trousers off with practiced hands and sucks a mark into the pale skin on the inside of Draco’s thigh, feeling the muscle tighten and shake under his tongue. 

He plays with the hem of Draco’s boxers, dipping his fingertips beneath the fabric and then drawing out again, nails scraping gently across his skin. 

“Gorgeous.” He says softly, and mouths at the tent in his boxers, tongue wetting Draco’s length, lapping at the spot where precome has already soaked through. 

He’s slow about the whole affair, dragging it out and teasing Draco until tears seep through his shut eyes and his chest heaves with gasps of pleasure. He massages his hands against the muscles in Draco’s thighs, clasps a hand in his, cups his balls and squeezes softly, teeth grazing along Draco’s clothed length. 

Draco groans long and low, hand tightening around Blaise’s, “ _ please. _ ” He gets out, caught between breaths. 

“Of course,” Blaise says, drawing back and slipping Draco’s boxers over the curve of his ass, tossing them in the vague direction of Draco’s other clothes. He sits up long enough for Draco to shuffle himself back up against the headboard, pillows piled against his back, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he spreads his legs again, wordlessly. 

Blaise rubs his hands along Draco’s thighs, then grasps his left hand again, kissing it gently. He moves to Draco’s mouth next, licking into it freely, hand under his jaw, thumb pressed against his chin, tilting his head back and to the side for better access. 

“So handsome for me,” Blaise murmurs, and presses another opened-mouth kiss to Draco’s abused nipple, allowing Draco’s gasps to fill the room to the brim. 

The finally,  _ finally,  _ he touches Draco, hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing and twisting at the top. Draco’s head bangs against the headboard and he moans  _ loud,  _ thighs instantly widening. 

“ _ Yes, _ ” he gasps, “ _ yes, yes, please - Merlin, yes- _ ” he babbles, hips jerking forwards under Blaise’s careful touch. 

“That’s it, so gorgeous.” 

Blaise’s hand returns to the base of Draco’s cock, and before Draco can beg more, he’s licking against the head, tongue curling around the tip. 

“Fuck!” Draco curses, squeezing his eyes closed and arching towards Blaise. 

Heat encircles his cock, tongue pressing hard and flat against the vein, hand twisting around what doesn’t fit in Blaise’s mouth. He hums around Draco, the vibrations making Draco bite his kissed-red lip so as to not cry out. 

Mouth full, Blaise cannot keep whispering his praises, but he holds onto Draco’s hand tight, grounding him with the steady rub of his thumb along the back of his hand; soft and bright. 

It doesn’t take long for Draco to come undone; Blaise licks against him and sinks down until Draco’s tip hits the back of his throat, hand twisting with a mess of precome and saliva, slicking Draco up until he’s gasping with a steady “ _ uh, uh, uh _ ,” his hips jerking farther into Blaise’s secure heat. 

He comes with a cry, face flushed red and cheeks streaked with tears. 

There’s nothing like it to be held and surrounded and completely  _ loved  _ in the early evening sun, nothing to compare this feeling of ecstasy to, as he looks down at Blaise, who pulls off of him and smiles all gentle and sweet, who crawls up Draco and lays his weight over him, lets Draco lick his own taste off of Blaise’s tongue. 

“You’re brilliant.” Blaise says to the backdrop of the last songbirds and roar of quidditch crowds, “absolutely brilliant.” 

Draco kisses him, all slow and sweet, tries to show Blaise how much he matters to him. 

“Let me do you now?” Draco asks against his mouth, hand curling around the back of his neck. 

“No, s’all right,” Blaise’s tone is gentle, all soft. It sounds like the way that the sun’s rays feel, “I just wanted to take care of you. Besides, I think the quidditch match is nearly over.” 

“Do you not want me to-”

“It’s not that at all,” Blaise says quickly, stopping Draco’s train of thought from turning sour, “I would love to. Just not today. Today was about you - wanted to -” Blaise sounds almost shy, “-wanted to make you feel good.” 

“You did.” 

Blaise presses a curious hand to the curve of Draco’s shoulder connecting to his neck, where an angry red welt from the stinging hex had been, “stinging hex gone?” 

Draco nods, “completely.” 

“Good.” 

They bask in the afterglow, and Draco falls asleep with Blaise’s head pillowed against his chest. 

He’s awoken later by the sound of a roar coming from the window, and when Draco peers out of the window down to the quidditch pitch, with Blaise’s hand clasped firmly on his shoulder, he sees billows of green. 

Slytherin won. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that! I had a blast wiring it; it was entirely self-indulgent. I'll be back to my regularly scheduled Ruins by Moonlight update next week. 
> 
> Please consider leaving kudos or a comment if you liked this!


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